


Batteries and Backups

by NinjaKitten



Series: honest phone calls [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Crack, Gen, it's been So Long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaKitten/pseuds/NinjaKitten
Summary: "Congratulations on the second shift! Don’t get too comfortable, now. You’re another night closer to the sweet embrace of death at the pizza-stained paws of a ‘roid rage Muppet Baby."Freddy Fazbear's really needs to step up the security policies on access to those training tapes...





	Batteries and Backups

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fanfiction equivalent of walking into class fifteen minutes late with Starbucks only it's like two years and the coffee has Baileys in it. 
> 
> Anyway, it's probably best to read these in order; this one's for the second game, Necessity of Newspaper is for the first. NoN is also the funnier one because the phone calls got HEAVY in this game. Nights 5 and 6 have been kind of combined here because it’s hard to make that shit funny. 
> 
> (also to be entirely honest I have not played all of the second game but I watched LPs okay)

**Night 1**

“Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? Woah, there goes the static. Hope that didn’t burn out your eardrums, you’re gonna need ‘em. Anyway, welcome to the summer from hell! If you’re hearing this, you’re dumb or desperate enough to take a job at the _new_ and _improved_ Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. My job is to provide _guidance_ and _support_ through this _exciting time_ in your new career in the custodial arts. Seriously kid, you should just be a trash collector. No student loans, and twice the salary you get at this shit heap? Sign me the fuck up.

Now, you may have heard some bad things about the old location. Kinda let that place go to the dogs, y’know? But Fazbear Entertainment’s all about the kiddies now. Fun, fun, fun! And, uh, hang on… where was that page… “new and improved protocols held to the highest and most rigid occupational health and safety standards”.

Hah, I got something _rigid_ for ya…

Um. Anyway. We’ve replaced all the robots. Spent a fortune on ‘em, too. They blew enough cash for a fifteen-hooker orgy on those things. Including chocolate sauce. I know, because I crunched the numbers. Suggested it for the staff, you know, to boost morale? Management wasn’t pleased.

So instead of that, they hooked them up to some criminal database. The things can spot a kiddie-fiddler at fifty feet. Don’t know if they got those bitchin’ laser eyes, though. Like the Terminator. The Predator? …E.T.? Uh, yeah. I worked there for a week then packed it in. They moved me to the day shift. Not ‘cause I couldn’t handle it or nothin’, but when that creepy heap of scrap metal comes a’knockin’… ruining all my nice pants, if you know what I mean. Just… you don’t know true, pants-shitting terror until a robot wearing a skinned teddy bear as a suit is threatening to fist you in the eye socket.

Uh… apparently they’re working on that. It’s some kind of ‘night mode’ failure. They’re looking for an audience. Attention whores. There’s this music box you can wind up remotely, it keeps them distracted. Doesn’t work too long, though. And the music’s terrible. Would it kill them to get a little, I dunno, Springsteen? Took it up with HR but those pricks can barely wipe their own—

Yeah, alright! I’ve got the fucking script right—

Jesus, not a criminal offense.

Alright, where was I? Oh, yeah. If they do get into the office, you need to hide. Don’t go under the desk though, the creepy little ones can still get you. There’s an old Freddy head. Pop it on, and they’ll think you’re one of them. As much as those faux-fur scrap heaps can think, anyway. Just try not to puke in it, alright? It only gets cleaned so many times. Yeah.

On that note, if you’ve got a few brats or some kinda spouse, you might wanna think about funeral insurance. I’m not implying anything, just… consider it. Might come in handy.

Oh, and don’t get smart and try to close the doors. In case you didn’t notice, there aren’t any! You get a flashlight, though. Budget cuts, man. Budget. Cuts. When they remodel this place they’d better put in blast doors.

At least they didn’t skimp on the power bill, but with gas prices the way they are…

Well, good luck! You’ll hear from me again tomorrow night, assuming you haven’t been brutally dismembered. Later!”

 

**Night 2**

“Yo! You made it! Don’t get too comfortable, now. You’re another night closer to the sweet embrace of death at the pizza-stained paws of a ‘roid rage Muppet Baby. Speaking of weird stains, have you noticed the crusty old bastards in the back room? ‘Course you have, unless you’ve been neglecting those cameras. Well, they’re the old robots. Last year’s model. They’re from the first restaurant, back when men were men and kids could handle getting sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to while lookin’ into the cold, dead eyes of Satan’s teddy bear.

Management just rips ‘em out for parts now. S’posed to be fixed up, but they were too damn ugly to bother. Everything’s all cutesy now, in case little Timmy has a nightmare, starts seeing Freddy under the bed. This place is turning into some kinda technicolour Lisa Frank nightmare. Kinda sad, really. The old ones had… personality. Uh, you know. In the sense that a deranged, soulless serial killer has personality. But I’d rather not get torn to shreds by something outta a Saturday morning cartoon. Emasculating, y’know?

Oh, and the old ones stink. Real bad. If they’re rottin’ from the inside out like management says they are, they shouldn’t be able to walk around—but guess what?

That head trick should work on them, too. ‘Cept Foxy, that shifty bastard. He’s always been a little… smarter. Sonuvabitch gives me the creeps. Can use your flashlight against him, though. Now, don’t bash his face in with it. Did that one time… Not worth it. At least they didn’t bother fixing him. Do you think my paycheck could cover that?

Uh, yeah. Flash him. With the light! It causes some kind of factory reset in all the older models. Can you imagine the factory that would make these things? I always kinda thought they’d sprung fully formed outta the bowels of the Earth somewhere.

 And don’t forget the music box. It’s the only thing keeping you from being that puppet’s bitch. Sweet dreams!”

 

**Night 3**

“Hey! You’re not doing too bad, fresh meat. Hearing that music in your head yet? It doesn’t go away. But hey, it beats the visual hallucinations.

Did that fox show up? Creepy little bugger, ain’t he? They redesigned him too. Only, uh, did a little change. I don’t get it, man. Stuck some lipstick and fake eyelashes on a fox like they wanted to make it fuckable. Anyway, he got one hell of a makeover and they stuck him in with the kiddies.

Kids’ Cove… gate to hell, man. Drive you to a vasectomy. Damn kids can’t keep their hands to themselves. We were putting that fox back together every night. Couldn’t be bothered anymore, pitched it to management as an attraction. Kids can have some fun and learn a trade. Call her the Mangle now. Still creepy as fuck even in a mess of parts. Uh… guess that’s it. Still got some time to kill.

Hm…

Oh, yeah. You should probably start bringing replacement batteries with you. Smuggle them in your pockets or something. I don’t know if you’ve met Balloon Boy yet, but the batteries in your flashlight tend to disappear when that low-rent Munchkin is around. I drop-kicked that thing all the way across the office once. I can still see it. Flying through the air, limbs flailing, screaming all the way…

Hey, have you heard any of those rumours ‘bout this place yet? Shit’s wild. I mean, none of it’s true. Officially. Anyway, I’m on from opening to closing and I ain’t seen nothing but some serious violations of my basic human rights. Ten percent employee discount _my ass_. And we gotta pay for that shitty instant coffee. Speaking of, I gotta piss. Good luck!”

 

**Night 4**

“You’re doing alright, man. Have a shot, on me. Uh, yeah. Left my Jack under the desk this afternoon. Trying to spice things up, you know? Irish coffee. Don’t try it, I nearly puked up my spleen. Then again, that happens with the coffee normally. Should really bring your own, but who can afford that?

Uh, yeah. Someone had better either drink it or sneak it out in their ass or something, what with all those cops sniffing around. Some kind of investigation. Um, they don’t tell us nothing, but I think we’re going dark for a few days. Just try not to die and I’ll keep ya posted.

And, um, don’t worry about the cameras so much tonight. Music box needs doin’, but you don’t want to be looking for the furry bastards all night in case they sneak up on you. Dirty fighters. They’re acting weird, too. I reckon someone’s got in and fucked with them. Wonder if we could do that? Make ‘em back the fuck off. They have to be customisable, right?

Anyway, don’t look them in the eyes. I don’t know why you would…

They’re acting all nice to the kids, but givin’ us all death-glares when they get us alone. It’s like they’ve married your ex-wife. Next thing you know, your kid will be calling them Daddy and asking to come here for Christmas.

Uh, sorry. It’s been a long day.

I have a confession to make. Might as well do it now, in case I get fired or murdered or something. These aren’t the calls you’re supposed to be getting. The phone guy does ‘em, usually. I don’t know if you’re getting his or not. They told me to stop after the first one, said I was getting a little too _personal_. But I know you’re not going to be told this shit. I mean, you can always choose not to listen, but hey, it’s your funeral.”

 

**Night 5**

“You made it! Night five… Well, you’ve nearly beaten my record.

Anyway, be careful tonight. We’re officially on lockdown. No one allowed in or out, which does not bode well for that lunch I ordered.

It’s from that Chinese place down the road. You can’t miss it. Only place that serves food that doesn’t look like it came out of a dumpster.

It’s better than the pizza here, anyway. They really should change that recipe. I don’t know, I’m not a chef, but tomato sauce needs a little sugar in it. Maybe some basil. Oregano.

Oh yeah, the lockdown. Something to do with a previous employee. I don’t know what happened, but you’ll get his job. Lucky bastard. You just gotta hang out one more night. There’s some party on the weekend, kid’s birthday. You’ll get to do that one too. Fun, fun, fun.

Uh, no one’s replacing your shift yet. I think it’s gonna be that one guy. Fucking stupid, he’s gonna get—

Okay, well, I gotta get out of here. Don’t leave, it’s not safe. Unless you got a AK-47 stuffed inside your uniform in which case take care because these pants are _tight_.

Maybe I’ll see you around. Not here, though, I’m _out_ soon as I get my last paycheck.

I reckon I should start some kind of group. Ex-night watch, or something. Bet we could get some deals on therapy, make up for those so-called benefits. Well, take care of the brat’s party. Guess I’ll see you in the welfare line.”


End file.
